


Snapshots in Sepia

by Emtifah



Category: Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Promptober
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-07-25 04:40:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16190273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emtifah/pseuds/Emtifah
Summary: A series of drabbles about our favorite folks from Neptune





	1. Flashlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica and Logan go to the movies (Pre-series)

“Y'know, a couple of years ago, this would have seemed really strange to me.”

As Brendan Fraser slaps the back of Oded Fehr, Veronica reaches her hand over the empty seat between her and Logan. “Popcorn me,” she whispers. She waits ten seconds and when there is no treat proffered she turns to look at her neglectful neighbor, her eyes narrowed in displeasure. Logan sits slumped in the seat, his phone flipped open and his thumb rapidly tapping out a text.

“Logan, popcorn!” Veronica hisses a little louder.

Logan snaps the phone shut. “I heard you the first time, Ronnie.” Without warning, he springs up from his seat and plops back down into the one next to her. He flings his arm with the popcorn bucket her way with enough force that a few kernels fly out the top and land in her lap. “You’re welcome,” he sullenly whispers.

“Thanks,” Veronica replies sarcastically, dipping her hand into the bucket to grab some popcorn. Before bringing it to her mouth, she adds, “I thought we were saving that seat for Lilly.”

He briefly holds up his phone “We’ve been stood up.”

She sighs. Lilly had suggested at lunch they go to the movies that afternoon since school was going to let out early for half a teachers’ work day. Duncan still had soccer practice so it was just just going to be Veronica awkwardly third wheeling on a movie date with Logan and Lilly. She had tried to beg off, but Lilly adamantly refused to take no for an answer. Now Lilly wasn’t even coming. She wishes she was more surprised at this turn of events, but she’s noticed that the closer they get to the end of the school year, the more distance Lilly has been putting between herself and Logan. She’s pretty sure it has something to do with the fact that Lilly will be moving up to the high school next year— where the boys can actually drive— while Logan (and the rest of them) will still be stuck in junior high. Not even being the son of two movie stars can fully take away the stigma of eighth grade— at least not when there were senior boys available.

“Shhhhh!” the middle-aged woman sitting in front of them turns and glares at them.

“Sorry,” Veronica mouths an apology even if she doesn’t fully feel the sentiment. She and Logan had claimed their seats first and despite the theater being mostly empty on a schoolday afternoon, this lady decided to sit directly in front of them.

Logan shrugs his shoulders and then tosses a few pieces of popcorn in the air, catching them in his mouth at the last moment. The woman shakes her head in irritation and turns back toward the screen.

Logan leans over into Veronica’s space. “I bet she’s only here to see those George of the Jungle abs,” he says in a stage whisper loud enough to be heard in a five seat radius. Veronica shakes her head in disapproval, but hopes that Logan can’t feel the heat that is suddenly radiating from her cheeks because to be honest— that’s pretty much why she goes to any Brendan Fraser movie. 

The woman throws her arms up in the air. “I’m getting a manager to escort you out of here.” She stands up and makes her way down her aisle in a huff. Logan lets out a deep laugh and sends her off with a one finger salute— his middle finger. 

Veronica returns her attention to the mummy chase through the damp, London cobble streets on screen. She might as well watch as much as she can before the woman comes back with an usher. 

“Hey, Ronnie?”

Veronica sighs but doesn’t look over.

“Does Duncan know he has to compete against Dudley Do-Right for your affections?”

“You are such a jackass sometimes,” Veronica mumbles and then to fully drive home her point she punches him in the upper arm. Although she doesn’t punch him that hard, she thinks she sees him wince. Before she can question him about it he’s laughing out loud again. 

“Hate to disappoint, but those abs were 90% special effects.”

“Shut up back there!” A person a few rows up yells out and Veronica sinks low in her seat in embarrassment.

“Relax dude. it’s the Mummy Returns. Not Citizen Kane.” Logan retorts. 

At this point, Veronica has come to the conclusion that Logan is trying to drum up trouble— she’s noticed that he gets like this when Lilly pushes him away. Her friendship with Logan has been built around their mutual proximity to the Kanes so she isn’t sure if that gives her permission to directly call him out on it. The one thing she is sure of is that she doesn’t have to patience to put up with this behavior for the next ninety plus minutes. 

“I think I’m going to head out.” She begins to rise when Logan reaches out. His fingers circle her wrist, but she’s surprised to find she can barely feel them because he is applying so little pressure. Despite this, she stops midway between sitting and standing.

“Did you know that Aaron auditioned for the role of Rick?” Logan suddenly volunteers, his voice so low that Veronica can barely hear him. When she looks at him, she swears he looks a little scared.

“Really?” she lowers herself back down.

“Yeah. They were looking for someone with a more slapstick sense of humor.” He lets go of her hand so he can rub his other arm with it as he says this.

Like most girlfriends do, Lilly has made claims about how he really can be a sensitive boyfriend, but this is the first time Veronica is seeing this side of him— open and vulnerable. Usually he is all bravado and ego.

Suddenly a thought pops into her head, maybe this is what Lilly intended the whole time: to get him— scratch that, make that them— used to life without her every day presence. Maybe she wants them to know that they have each other when she isn’t there next year. The idea borders on that type of Hallmark sentimentality that Lilly usually scoffs at, but she can’t dismiss it totally out of hand. Even Lilly has a soft spot, and she’s pretty sure she and Logan fall into it. 

Logan is opening his mouth to say something else when the beam of the usher’s flashlight falls upon them.

“You’re bothering our other moviegoers. I’m afraid that I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” 

To her disappointment, all traces of vulnerability disappears from Logan’s face. He was about to tell her something important, she can feel it. She curses the ushers lousy timing.

“This movie sucks anyways!” she exclaims, hoping that her sudden show of defiance is enough to convince Logan of her solidarity with him.

He stands up and holds his hand out to her. “Let’s go to Amy’s— my treat.”

Veronica nods, taking his hand in hers. He pulls her up and they head out of the theater.  A smattering of applause follow them out the door.


	2. Closed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith has something to tell Veronica (Post-Series, Pre-Movie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real fish were harmed in the writing of this story.

“Hope your son enjoys the frogs,” Keith calls after the man carrying away the fish tank. He lets go of the door’s metal bar handle, allowing the frosted glass to swing shut behind him. He takes two steps into the waiting room before he releases the sigh that has been building up all week.

That fish tank was one of the first things he moved into the office when he opened Mars Investigations a decade ago. Over the years he had grown to appreciate the sound of its air pump releasing tiny bubbles into the water as he thought through his cases. His original plan included taking it and its lone occupant with him to the new space, but that all changed when he came into the office on Monday and found Dashiell floating on his back— his shimmering white belly bobbing in and out of the water. He quietly murmured thanks for the years of silent companionship before flushing the fish down the toilet, then he cleaned out the tank and listed it on Freecycle. One last thing to worry about finding a place for in the new office.

If he believed in signs, he might think this was Dashiell’s way of telling him it was time to pack it all in for good, not just for a move across town. His mind is still sharp, but his body isn’t as young as it once was. Two years ago he had given up taking the more lucrative fugitive recovery jobs because of the physical toll on his health they wrought, and he’s pretty sure the lower back pain that lingers after long stakeouts is an indicator that he’s going to have to curtail those soon as well. There’s also the fact that his books have allowed him to be less financially reliant on the income he makes as a P.I. Despite his reluctance to write it in the first place, the royalties from “Big Murder: Small Town”— which his publisher released a new edition of to coincide with the tenth anniversary of Lilly Kane’s death— paid for a big chunk of Veronica’s Stanford student loans, and his book on Woody Goodman helped him to deposit a sizable down payment for a two bedroom, Craftsman bungalow in the ‘07 part of town last year. Opportunities to write continue to drift into his inbox, the most recent coming from a small imprint that specializes in mystery novels. The bottom line: shuttering Mars Investigation wouldn’t be the end of the world for him. But something in him just won’t let him pull the trigger.

There isn’t much left to do before the movers arrive in the morning. He’s already cleared out the kitchenette and all the contents of his office are packed away in a dozen bankers boxes stacked by his desk and another twelve by reception. He transferred the most sensitive files to his safe at home a week ago, where they will stay until the office safe is fully installed in the new location. Phone service will be switched over tomorrow as well. Really there’s only one thing left to do— he needs to tell Veronica.

He’s been putting it off since he made the decision to move, telling himself that it would be too much of a distraction as she studies for her 1 L finals, but she finished exams yesterday and she is coming home for a short visit in one week.  He could wait to tell her— well actually show her— when she’s here, but she’s never been good with change, and this is a big one. She spent most of her teen years, sitting in front of the reception area’s stained glass windows, multitasking between homework, administrative work for the office, and pursuing her own investigations. This office was one of her few constants during those turbulent high school years, he’d even go as far as to call it her home. She's not going to be happy with him, but telling her now at least gives her the chance to get used to the idea and may reduce the risk of her avoiding him in anger for the entire duration of her trip.

He goes into his office, shutting the door behind him as if he is protecting the privacy of a client, and sits in his desk chair. He pulls his cell phone out of his khakis’ pocket, opens his favorite contacts list and selects her name. He immediately sets the phone to speaker and then lays it on the worn top of his desk.

“What’s happening Hot Stuff?!” Veronica picks up on the third ring. Her playful banter— and the rhythmic thud of an EDM beat mixed with girls laughing in the background— tell him that she is probably celebrating.

“Hot Stuff? You know I would have just settled for ‘Dad’,” he deadpans.

“And I would would have settled for a pony,” she counters in quick succession.

“Careful, you’re beginning to sound like a lawyer.”

“Don’t tell Cliffy. He might think I’m gunning for his job.”

Keith finally chuckles, but there’s a bit of sadness to it. He misses this— their rapid-fire back and forth repartee. When they get into this kind of groove he forgets for a second that she lives over two thousands miles away, only to hurt like someone is tearing off the most painful band-aid when reality sets back in. “You have a minute to talk to your old man?”

“Sure. I may even have five.” He can hear her excuse herself to her friends, a few seconds later there’s the sound of a door closing, muting the lively music.

“Sorry about that greeting, Dad. We’re just trying to blow off a little steam through a small game of Truth or Dare.”

“Don’t worry about it. I get it,” he assures her. He was once young too. “So how did your finals go?”

“Great. Aced them all, including an A minus on my Torts exam.”

“That’s fantastic,Veronica. I’m so proud of you.” he congratulates her. He knows he needs to get to the point soon, it’s already nine p.m. her time and he doesn’t want to keep her long from her friends. Only problem is he’s still trying to formulate in his head how he’s going to tell her. To stall for time, he asks, “Did you figure out your housing situation for next year?”

“Yeah, Katherine and I are going to rent an on-campus apartment. We sign the lease tomorrow and then we move in when I get back from my California trip.”

“Good to hear.” Suddenly Keith has thought of an angle he can use to transition to his news. “I know you two probably won’t have a big decorating budget for your new place, you maybe want to bring back with you that photo of the iron girders from the office?”

“Well, we were thinking about hanging Marky Mark’s Calvin Klein poster in the living room, but that would work too.” She pauses before asking, “Are you redecorating the office?”

“Not exactly.” He begins to nervously rub in a circle the bald spot at the top of his head. “I closed a deal for new office space.”

There’s no response and he’s unsure if maybe she’s hung up. Finally she speaks up again. “By new office space, you mean you're expanding the business or…” she trails off.

“I’m moving to a new office,” he confirms the unspoken option.

“Wow, just wow.” she breathes out. “Why?”

“I don’t have much choice— I either move or I retire," he replies very matter-of-fact. "The building was sold to developers who are tearing it down. They’re going to build one of those high-end joint residential-slash-commercial buildings— you know, construction in the name of progress.”

“Are you sure you have to do this? I took Contract law last semester, maybe I could find a loophole.”

“It’s a done deal, Honey.”

He gives her a moment to absorb what he’s saying before continuing on. “It's a little smaller, but it's nice. You'll like it. It’s in a converted factory in the old cannery district. It has a lot of windows— hence not as much wall space for art. The windows are mostly clear glass which means more natural light. And, uh, the building is all office space so I don’t have to worry about my clothes absorbing the smell of Jade Garden roasting Peking Duck any more.”

“I like Jade Garden’s Peking Duck,” Veronica interrupts his rambling.

“Me too. They moved somewhere near Cho’s so I’m sure we can get it delivered.”

“When do you have to move?” she asks.

‘Tomorrow’ is at the tip of his tongue, but then he pivots. “Soon. I’ll be in the new place by the time you get here.”

“That’s really soon,” she says, her voice flat. He can almost hear the gears turning in her head as she processes the timeline. “You should have told me earlier. I could have come out so we could have picked out a space together,” she finally says.

Guilt crashes into his stomach like a ball of lead as the real reason why he didn’t tell her slides into focus. He needs her her to feel disconnected from Mars Investigations, like she doesn’t have any ownership in it. This space he's in now, this is _their_ space— as much hers as it is his— but the new office will be all his— there will be no shared history. If she had come out to help him search, she would have continued to feel like she had stake in things. There’d be too much of a chance it would have drawn her back— like a siren’s song— into the world of investigating. He doesn’t want that for her. Her future is New York. Her future is law school. Her future is _anything but_ Neptune.

He’s rescued from answering by a loud knock on the door. He looks up to see who's there only to to realize that it’s on Veronica’s end. The volume of the music increases and then a girl is yelling, “Vee!!! Are you coming back to the game? It’s your turn to come up with the dare!”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Veronica says, her voice sounding like she’s moved away from the phone. The music goes back to being muffled.

“I’ve taken too much of your time. I better let you get back to your friends,” Keith apologizes. “I’ll see you in a week.” He worries that it sounds like he’s asking a question, like he’s giving her the option to stay away now and she has to make a choice.

“Yeah.” Her terse response is filled with tension. 

“I love you, kiddo.”

“Love you, too.”

The line goes dead before he can say his customary “who’s your daddy?”. He knows she’s hurting and it’s killing him, but it’s how it has to be.

He stands up and pockets the phone before slowly making his way to the door. He turns around to to take one last, hard look at this space that has been his professional home for the last decade. The sun has started its slow, summer descent in the sky and the change of light deepens the scarlet and gold reflections from the stained glass.

He mentally tries to capture the image in his mind, but he knows that the memory will not be able to compete with the beauty of what once was.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although this story fits into movie cannon, I'm reverting back to the Series' timeline of Veronica graduating high school in 2006. If I have done my math correctly, this story takes place in spring/summer of 2014.


	3. Demonstration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac goes to yoga (Post-Series, Pre-Movie)

Mac’s staff meeting starts in five minutes and she needs to refill her coffee mug before going in. Naturally this means that her office phone must ring. Per company policy, she has to answer.

“Kane Software. This is Mac.”

“Hello, Can I please speak with with Ms. Cindy MacKenzie?” a thin, slightly accented voice asks.

“Yes. Cindy _Mac_ Kenzie. Mac. That’s me. How can I help you today?”

“I am Asha Chitayanan. I own Venilia Yoga Studio here in Neptune. Your name was selected from business cards we collected at your company’s health fair last week.”

“Ummm, okay.” Mac doesn’t remember stopping at a booth for a yoga studio at the health fair— never mind dropping her business card into a fishbowl raffle for said yoga studio.

“I was hoping we could schedule your complimentary, thirty minutes, one-on-one yoga and meditation demonstration with one of our Venilia Yoga instructors.”

Mac looks down at her watch. There’s only three minutes until her meeting, coffee is now out of the question. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m really more of a Crossfit girl. Feel free to draw someone else’s name.” Mac tries to beg off.

“I sense much tension and stress in your voice Ms. MacKenzie. Research has shown that people who practice yo—“

Mac needs to get this woman off the phone, and obviously she won’t take a simple ‘no’ for an answer. “Fine,” she cuts her off. “I will come in for just thirty minutes.”

“I have room in our schedule for next Wednesday at eight p.m.”

“Sure.” She doesn’t bother to look at her calendar because she has no intention to show up.

“We will email you with directions to the studio and suggestions for appropriate attire. Namaste, Ms. Cindy MacKenzie.”

* * *

One very stressful week later, Mac finds herself standing outside the Venilia Yoga Studios— its ocean wave logo frosted in the center of each of its large windows and its glass door. She can’t see clearly inside due to the steam that has condensed on the windows from the seven o’clock hot yoga class. There is something naggingly familiar about where she is standing; it finally hits her— the studio’s building is in the exact same location as where Mars Investigations used to stand.

“Gentrification,” she mutters to herself, but that doesn’t stop her from pulling her phone out of her bag and taking a pic of the building. She texts it to Veronica with the caption “Guess where I am?”

A bell hanging over the door cheerfully rings and the the first of the hot yoga class members begin to exit. Their cheeks are flushed and sweat glistens down their bare arms. Their yoga pants and flowy tunics accentuate their graceful movements and she can’t help but think they look like they could fit into Botticelli’s _The Birth of Venus_. Mac looks down at her black lycra leggings— the phrase “Just Do It” written in binary down the sides— and her heather grey tank with “Talk Nerdy to Me” written in bold across her bust. She doesn’t belong here with these yoga goddesses.

She’s about to turn around and leave when she hears the voice of Asha Chitayanan. “Ms. MacKenzie. You came!.”

She immediately recognizes the diminutive older woman with skin the rich, sienna brown of Thai Iced Tea and smooth-as-silk black hair— streaked with strands of wiry, white— hanging midway down her back. They had spent ten minutes talking at the health fair about the best web design products for non-web designers. She had been extremely attentive— her wide, bright smile never wavering as Mac droned on with her recommendations. At the end of the conversation, Mac handed her one of her business cards and told her to call her if she had any questions. The topic of yoga had never been brought up and Mac had assumed that the woman worked for the healthy meals delivery service whose booth they were standing next to at the time.

Asha reaches out now and envelopes Mac’s hands between hers. Her skin is papery thin up until her  fingertips, which are calloused but bouncy— almost like the texture of a thick orange peel. “I am so glad you are here.”

The right corner of Mac’s mouth quirks up and she narrows her eyes just the slightest bit in suspicion. “I didn’t win a private yoga session, did I?”

Asha has the decency to look sheepish as she shakes her head. “Not exactly. I invited you to come and see the studio, do some yoga, and hopefully convince you to help me design a new website— perhaps in exchange for some private lessons or a reduced fee. I am just a one-woman-owned business and I cannot afford what your company would charge.”

Mac has to bite her lip to prevent the giggle from escaping her mouth— she doesn’t have the heart to tell Asha that Kane Software doesn’t even do web design. She’s about to ask about her suggestions from that day, when Asha speaks up again.

“I have tried many of those programs you told me about, but I am just not good with technology.” The older woman lets go of Mac’s hands, briefly places them on Mac’s cheeks— pressing down with just the slightest amount of pressure— and then brings them together in front of her like she is about to pray. “I have scheduled an instructor to lead you in a short session in one of our private studios. I am hoping that you will take it. Afterwards we can talk.”

Her time working on cases with Veronica taught her to recognize when someone really needs help, and she can see that look in Asha’s eyes.

She nods her head. “Okay. Let’s do some yoga.”

Asha claps her hands together in excitement. “Thank you, Ms. Cindy MacKenzie.”

“You can just call me Mac.”

* * *

After accepting a towel and a room temperature bottle of water, Mac follows Asha up the stairs.

“We have two changing rooms downstairs as well as another bathroom at the end of this hall,” Asha explains as they walk. “There are three private studios on this floor as well; your lesson will be in this first one.” She gestures with one hand to the closed door immediately to their left. Mac is about to reach for the doorknob when Asha places her hand on her shoulder. “We leave our shoes outside of the studio.”

Mac nods as she slips off her flip-flops. She bends over so she can line them up outside the door and notices a much larger pair already there.

“The instructor I have paired you with today, he is very good. After you are done, you will come down and we shall have some tea and talk.”

“Wait, you’re not staying?”

“No, I need to go downstairs and make sure my granddaughter finishes her homework as well as complete some paperwork, but I have left you in very capable hands. Namaste, Cindy MacKenzie.” Asha pats Mac’s cheeks again, and before Mac can protest, she turns around and heads back down the stairs.

 _It’s only thirty minutes._ Mac takes a deep breath and releases it between her lips that are tightly pressed together.

Cautiously she reaches for the doorknob and twists. As the door cracks open, the scents of lavender, lemon, and sandalwood waft past her— immediately soothing her nerves. Pushing the door further, she finds herself looking into a small room painted a deep plum with cream-colored, linen scarves draped to give the impression of a lower ceiling. The recessed lighting is turned down low and flickering LED votives are scattered around the the periphery, imbuing the room with a serene vibe.

A man stands along the far wall, his back facing Mac. He’s wearing a pair of forest green sweats that taper just below the knee and a white t-shirt that is drenched with sweat. There’s no mirrors in the room so she can’t see his face. A small section of his shaggy, sandy-blonde hair is pulled into the tiniest ponytail Mac has ever seen— it’s as if his hair stylist is a five-year old girl.

“Hel…” Mac’s greeting tapers off and her mouth drops open as he grabs the bottom hem of his shirt and lifts it up and off, exposing the taut muscles of his back. Her eyes are immediately drawn to his a broad, strong shoulders— the well-contoured blades constantly flexing as he moves. To her disappointment, he lifts his arms into the air again and starts to slide a new shirt over his head, but not before she notices the small ‘CC’ tattooed on the inside of his left shoulder blade.

“Hey. Sorry about that,” he finally speaks, his voice low but bright. Once again Mac feels something familiar knocking around the walls of her brain. “Hot yoga is great for the system, but it always leaves me wet.”

Even if it isn't intentional, it's the use of the euphemism at the end of his statement that triggers her memory.

“Dick?!” she utters in disbelief at the same time he turns around and says, “Hi, I’m Richard.”

His face immediately erupts into a wide grin. “Hey Mackie, long time no see.” His eyes sweep her body up and down and she immediately wishes she was wearing a winter parka and not a vaguely suggestive tank top. “You look good. You do Crossfit?”

Mac crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You can tell. It’s the arm muscles.” Dick gives her a nod. “So let’s do some yoga.” Dick takes a step towards her and Mac immediately takes one back. He stops and she thinks he’s going to call her on it, but he only asks, “Do you want me to put on some tunes?”

“What?”

“Some people like listening to wind chimes and babbling brooks while getting their zen on; others like silence. I personally li—“

“Music,” she cuts him off. She doesn’t think she can make it through the next thirty minutes with nothing to listen to but the sound of his voice.

Dick gives her a thumbs up and he bounds over to the right corner where his phone sits on a small table. She watches him quickly scroll through before stopping and hitting select. Suddenly a new age keyboard melody with cicadas buzzing and birds chirping woven through floats down from speakers in the ceiling.

“Since it’s getting late, we’re going to do a routine that’s going to help you relax— really wind down and get you ready for bed. Why don’t you take the mat on the right, set your stuff on the outside edge, and stand in the middle in mountain pose.”

Mac releases her arms and steps over to the mat Dick assigned her. He’s made his way over to the other one and is standing in the middle, facing hers— back straight, head held high, and his hands at his side, palms facing forward. She sets down her things and then stands in the middle of her mat— her back turned towards him— letting her arms flop to her sides.

“It’s going to be easier if you face me,” he suggests.

She gives a quick sigh and then turns in place so she is looking at him.

He gives a nod of approval. “Now stand like I’m standing.”

She narrows her eyes. “I am standing like you’re standing.”

“Your arms are hanging at your sides like dead fish.” He gives her a frown. “You need to hold them out a little bit and open up your palms so the energy can flow in and out of your body.”

She spreads her arms so they form an acute angle with her trunk and turns her hands so her palms are facing him. Despite following his instructions, the grimace on his face doesn’t change.

“You are _so_ tense right now. You gotta relax, Mackers.” he says.

“Maybe if you called me by my actual name.”

“Fine. You are _so_ tense right now. You gotta relax, _Mac._ ” He breaks his pose and begins to reach towards her. She flinches and he immediately stops—  holding up his hands open at shoulder level like she is about to arrest him. “I just want to help adjust your shoulders. Is that okay?”

Mac isn't sure what to say. Does she really think he’s done some growing up since she last saw him at college graduation a few years ago— when he and his Pi Sig brothers mooned everyone attending the ceremony. Asha did say she was leaving her in capable hands and there is something so genuine and pure about Asha that makes Mac want to believe her.

“Fine,” Mac agrees but holds up her index finger to indicate ‘not so fast’. “Try anything funny, and I hack into all your bank accounts and make them disappear before we even leave here.”

His eyes go wide for a second. “Got it. No funny business.”

She brings her finger back down and re-assumes mountain pose.

Hesitantly Dick reaches out and places a hand on each shoulder. He doesn’t move at first, giving her the opportunity to adjust to his touch— absorb the warmth radiating from him. She looks up and locks her eyes with his and he smiles. Gently, he begins to wiggle her shoulders back and forth for about five seconds— loosening them up— and then pauses for another five. He repeats this two more times. On his final stop, he pushes her shoulders back and lets go.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

Her mind scans her body from the bottom of her feet to the top of her head and she has to admit that she does indeed feel more relaxed.

“Better.”

For the next twenty minutes they repeat this process. He shows her the pose, she tries to copy him, and he helps her adjust— each time holding up his hands before telling her what part of the body he will need to touch to help her get the most out of the pose: “arms”, “upper back”, “lower back”, “waist”, “hips”, “shin”, “ankle”.  

* * *

“Come on, Mac. It’s time to wake up.”

Mac groans. “Just five more minutes, please.”

“No can do. I gotta lock up the studio for the night.”

She is laying down on her yoga mat: back flat, feet straight out, and palms pressed into the floor. Reluctantly she opens her eyes. Her head is turned to her right and she finds herself staring straight into Dick’s steely, blue-grey eyes.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty.”

She rolls her eyes and turns her head so she is looking back at the ceiling. For the first time she notices golden outlines of stars printed on the ceiling drapes. “What happened?” she asks.

“You fell asleep about two minutes into meditation. That was,” he pauses as he sits up and looks at his watch, “about thirty minutes ago.”

“Damnit,” Mac bolts up into a seated position, immediately regretting it as blackness begins to swirl in front of her eyes. She drops her head down into her hands and her fingers start to massage her scalp.

“Slow down there. Don’t want you passing out.” Dick reaches behind her and grabs her water bottle. He unscrews the lid and hands it to her.

Gratefully she takes it from him. That first sip of water feels as refreshing as a California Spring rain as it goes down her throat.

“I was supposed to talk to Asha after we finished.”

“She said you should call her in the morning.” Dick hops up and holds his hand out to her. “She needed to get little Rina home for bedtime— it’s a school night.”

Mac accepts his hand and allows him to pull her up. As soon as she is standing, she lets go in pretense of wiping dust away from her backside. “I never thought I would see the day where Dick Casablancas would care about bedtime on a school night.”

He leans over to pick up her towel and her bag. “I’m not the one who has to go to bed.” Dick hands them to her with a grin and waggles his eyebrows.    

“You never change, do you?” She wipes her face with the towel and then shoves it back into his hands.

“First - you walked into that one. Second - you have to admit that I acted professionally around you for over fifty minutes.”

“I was asleep for half of it.”

“Still progress.” Dick grabs his phone off the table in the corner and heads for the studio door. “I’ll finish cleaning up in the morning.”

Mac follows him out. Neither one of them say anything as they slip on their flip-flops. When they’re done, he gestures with his hand that she should go down the stairs first.

“So I have to ask,” she says mid-way down the steps. “How on earth did you become a yogi and, more importantly, how did you convince a sweet lady like Asha to hire you.”

“Well Boo Boo, they call it practice. I don’t really think of myself as a yogi though— at least not like Asha is— but I am a certified yoga teacher.”

They’ve reached the bottom of the stairs. He tosses the towel into a hamper behind the front desk, making a swishing noise as it flies through the air. He opens the front door and ushers them both outside, switching off the studio lights off behind them.

“Now, for the second part of your question.” Dick says as he locks the door. He turns around and leans against the frame of the door. “Two years ago, Logan is off on his first deployment and it’s Beaver’s birthday.”

Mac isn’t sure if it’s the cool breeze coming from the direction of the beach or the sudden mention of her dead boyfriend that is giving her chills. She pulls her arms closer into her body, and rubs her hands together to warm them up.

“I end up hanging out with the old crowd - Sean Friedrich, Luke Haldeman, Gia Goodman, Stu Cobb. Not my first choice for company, but they do when Logan isn’t in town and I want to get so smashed that I don’t remember shit. Two days later I wake up alone on Dog Beach, totally hungover, no memory of what’s gone down, and Asha is standing over me like a guardian angel. She does yoga there every morning and saw my crew drop me off. She invites me to follow along with her, which is difficult considering the state I’m in. Afterwards she takes me to breakfast and we just talk about...things.”

Mac suddenly has the urge to reach out and touch him, so she does— resting her right hand on his left forearm.

“Over the next few weeks, I find myself going to Dog Beach early in the morning to surf more often. By the time I finish in the water, she’s usually there doing her yoga thing and I join in, then we go for coffee. Eventually I get good enough that she asks if I want to help her at her new studio, and here we are.” He points up with two fingers at the ‘Venilia Yoga Studio’ sign painted above them.

“Here we are,” she repeats softly.

She’s forgotten about her hand on his arm until he looks down at it. She suddenly yanks it up as if she’s been scalded.

“I better head out,” she says hastily. “Thanks for the lesson, Dick.”  

“No problem. You’re a good student.”

She turns and starts walking away. She’s taken no more than ten steps when he calls out to her.

“Are we going to see you at the studio again?”

“Tell Asha I’ll call her about the website.”

She doesn’t turn around so she doesn’t see the smile that’s bloomed across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a couple of days to finish because 1) I came down with the flu 2)it wouldn't have felt complete if I had stopped half way through. I thought about breaking it up and using the second half for a different prompt, but I just couldn't do it.
> 
> Other notes:  
> -Venilia is a Roman diety associated with the winds and the seas. She was one of Neptune's paredrae (or consorts) and is considered to represent more still/quiet waters.  
> \- I'm not a yoga instructor and I've only been to big yoga classes, so please forgive me if I've taken some artistic liberties with Dick's yoga lessons.  
> -I didn't originally intend to have this connect to my last piece, but I guess it does seeing as this yoga studio stands where MI used to.  
> -The four most influential songs I listened to while writing this were, "Lovers" by Anna of the North, "Heartbeats" by Jose Gonzales, "Inside Out" by Spoon, and "Get Free" by Major Lazer.


	4. Cashmere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wallace goes to a wedding (Post-Movie)

“We’re just fifteen minutes away from the New Year. Let’s slow things down before it’s time to grab a glass of champagne for the midnight toast to our bride and groom.”

As the energetic beat of Rihanna's “We Found Love” bleeds into the opening drum beats of Drake’s “We’re Going Home”, a guest yells out “Kiss, Kiss!” and within a few seconds the room, which 200 years earlier was filled with the thunder of textile engines, is flooded with the bright clinking of pieces of silver against crystal glasses. The vibrations in the air from the ringing almost disguise the buzz of Wallace’s watch on his wrist, alerting him that he needs to get ready for his Best Man speech. He stops dancing and takes a step back from the pulsating crowd of bouncing bodies surrounding the happily, newly-married couple in the middle of the dance floor— just in time to see Piz’s sandy blonde head bend down and capture his bride’s lips in a kiss. When Piz straightens back up, his eyes catches Wallace’s and he mouths “I’m so happy!”.

It’s been an incredible night— the industrial-chic backdrop of the boutique hotel housed in an old textile factory along the roaring Fishkill Creek combined with a Coachella party vibe has made Wallace feel like he stumbled upon a party hosted by a modern day Jay Gatsby. He’s reluctant to leave the fun on the dance floor, but he wants to make his way outside and take a few minutes to himself before everyone else has to join him. He turns to Sheila, his dancing partner for the last hour and gives her an apologetic smile before signaling that he’s heading out.

“Wallace? Wallace? Where are you going?” she grabs onto his arm and asks in a semi-panic. Her voluptuous curves, honey-tone skin, and full-heart shaped lips have made her the popular bridesmaid with all the groomsmen. All weekend, they have been jockeying for the position to be standing next to her when the clock strikes twelve. So far she’s been able to fend them off by sticking close to Wallace and Mac— who disappeared thirty minutes ago to get a drink at the whiskey bar.

Wallace can’t blame the guys for wanting to try— he’s been attracted to Sheila ever since he first met her on a trip to visit Veronica in law school, but their timing has always been off. Back then, she was the one with the relationship— a long-time boyfriend who had just moved to Baltimore to go to Johns Hopkins Medical School; now he’s the one with a significant other— Jenny, a kindergarten teacher he met at Neptune School District volunteer event at the beginning of the school year. He’s not sure where the relationship is going to end up, but he doesn’t want a one-night fling with a bridesmaid to overshadow its beginning.

He points apologetically at his watch. “You remember what the wedding coordinator said in rehearsal— I need to be in position at five ‘til or heads will roll.”

“Fine,” she huffs just as Connor— one of Piz’s childhood friends from Beaverton— pushes past Wallace and starts pulsing his pelvis off rhythm in Sheila's direction. Wallace can’t help but shudder with her in repulsion. She pushes the offender away before saying, “I’m going to go throw-up in the ladies room. Can you save me a spot out there?” She doesn’t even wait for his response before she turns on her heels and makes a beeline towards the restrooms.

“I’ll send Mac to escort you safely,” Wallace calls after her before clapping the clueless guy on the shoulder. “Dude, just...” He realizes that Connor is too drunk to really understand any advice he can give him, so he just gives a few shakes of his head before moving on.

He winds his way through pockets of happily chatting guests— their faces glowing with the reflection of the twinkle lights hanging in long strands between dimmed industrial pendant lights— towards his seat at the bridal party table. His eyes drift up to the wall behind their table where twenty-foot projections of the New Kids on The Block are ‘hanging tough’ in the middle of Times Square. He wipes away the thin, sheen of sweat that has formed on his forehead with the rolled-up sleeve of his dress-shirt before grabbing his cashmere tuxedo jacket and shrugging it on.

He spies Mac leaning against the whiskey bar, talking with a blonde man with a shaggy haircut. From the side, the guy’s profile strikes more than a passing resemblance to a certain surfer Mac has been avoiding since their break-up. He’s guessing by the way she’s angling her body toward the guy that his roommate may not be making an appearance until the morning. While he’s doesn’t want to get in the way of obvious transference sex, but he promised Sheila help. He pulls out his phone and quickly sends Mac a text.

**_Sheila. Groomsmen. 911. Ladies room._ **

He sees Mac hold a finger up to pause the conversation as she flips over her phone that is sitting on the bar and reads his message. In no time, she’s typed in her response.

**_on it. see u outside._ **

Wallace doesn’t bother to slide his phone back into his jacket’s pocket as he heads outside to the patio. He shivers the moment his body hits the cold New York air. Despite spending his childhood braving freezing winters in Chicago, spending the last decade in sunny California has definitely weakened his tolerance for the cold. He’s drawn like a moth to the electric blue and blood orange flames of the portable heaters, and quickens his steps until he hits the invisible wall of heat. He stands still for a moment, just letting it sink in before he starts scrolling through his favorite contacts list and hits dial on his phone. It only rings twice before it’s picked up.

“Shouldn’t you be dancing the Cha Cha Slide or the YMCA right about now?” Veronica skips a traditional greeting.

“What, no ‘hey, Wallace. How’s it going, Wallace.’?” He playfully scoffs at the question.

“Hey, Wallace. How’s it going, Wallace?” He can hear the faint jingling of keys and then a sigh. “Didn’t expect to hear from you tonight.”

“I wanted to check in on you to see how’s it going.”

“Good. So good I’m closing up shop early tonight,” she answers nonchalantly.

Wallace cocks an eyebrow at her response. He’s about to reply when she starts back up, “Or do you mean how am I doing seeing as my boyfriend is stuck bunking with six thousand sailors on a tin can somewhere in the Indian Pacific and my two best friends are at my ex’s wedding to my law school roommate? In that case, I’m fine.”

“Fine, V?”

“Yup. Peachy keen.” There’s a brief pause before she asks, “So, how’s the party?”

Wallace glances over at the matrix of personal sized champagne bottles being set up just ten feet away.

“These New Yorkers are sure giving the ‘09ers a run for their money.”

She snorts in agreement before tentatively asking “And, how is —”

“He’s good. Really, really happy.” Wallace cuts in so she doesn’t have to say Piz’s name. For a while after his friends’ breakup, Wallace had remained a vocal proponent of Team Piz. It wasn’t until Logan returned from duty, giving Wallace a chance to observe the new couple settle into their distinctive version of domestic bliss, that he realized Veronica’s decision to be with the Flyboy instead of the DJ was based on way more than lusty hormones— there’s a emotional, magnetic pull between those two that only a fool would try to get between. Now he understands better that while she didn’t like having to break Piz’s heart, her heart would have broken every day if she had stayed for the easier, more normal life that Piz and New York promised.

He can hear her emit a sigh of relief.

“Sooo,” he changes the topic. “I know that the Wallace and Veronica Annual Pizza, Beer, and Ball Drop Watch Party is a lot to live up to, but you have plans for tonight.”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Jen called and asked if I wanted to come over for some pizza, wine, and the Big Lebowski.” He hears the muffled sound of a car door opening followed by some rustling and then it closing again. “You’ve got a keeper, Papa Bear. Don’t screw it up.”

“I know,” he assures her.

“Hey, Wallace.” There’s a strange sentimental tinge to her voice.

“Yeah?” He’s curious as to what she’s thinking, but knows that expressing too much curiosity will shut her down.

“I don’t think I tell you enough how glad I am that you came back from Chicago.”

Wallace smiles as he thinks back to that New Year’s Eve over a decade ago, when Veronica opened the door with pizza money in her hand and a stunned look on her face. It was the moment he knew that they would be ride or die for life.

“Me too, V. Me too.”

The door to the ballroom opens and guests are suddenly streaming towards him. The bride- now sporting a white fur coat- is being carried out on a chair by Piz and the other three groomsmen. Mac and Sheila are not too far behind, laughing at something the shaggy-haired guy has just said.

“I better go. Don’t want your girlfriend to think I’ve stood her up.” Veronica must have heard the noise that is now surrounding him.

“Okay,” he’s answers reluctantly. As much as a blast he’s having tonight, he knows he’d rather be chilling on the sofa with his two favorite girls and a Mama Leoni’s pizza. “You two have fun tonight. Tell Jen I’ll call around midnight your time.”

“Will do. Tell everyone ‘Happy New Years’ for me. See you at the airport tomorrow.”

He doesn’t have time to reply before she’s hung up.

He’s slipping his phone back into his tuxedo’s pocket when the wedding coordinator grabs him by the elbow.

“It’s time, Best Man.” she instructs him before thrusting a microphone into his hand.

He takes a moment to look over the crowd, his eyes finally landing on his friends. His mind blanks on the entirely too-sincere speech he wrote on the plane ride from California, instead it grabs onto scraps of a speech he had dreamt up when he thought it would be Piz and Veronica getting married. Ironically, those pieces will still work today.

“Dearly beloved. We are gathered here today because Stosh Piznarski didn’t lock his doors when unpacking his car our first day at Hearst College…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took awhile to finish. This was the fourth prompt for the 2018 Promptober challenge -- Cashmere. It started out as a much different piece. Wallace was still in New York but he was visiting Veronica in law school. In one version, he ran into Jackie and her family and in another he ran into Piz. In all the early versions, he was dating Jen, who he was going to buy a black cashmere scarf (ala Serendipity) for Christmas. I was struggling with that when I heard the two songs mentioned in the beginning played together. Suddenly there was a wedding and the scarf was replaced with a tuxedo jacket. When researching wedding venues in New York, I found an article about a New Year's Eve wedding at a place called The Roundhouse that definitely inspired the setting (I recommend googling it). 
> 
> I've decided to make Snapshots in Sepia my main collection for any drabbles I write (challenge related or not). I don't have any anticipated posting schedules - my life has been crazy busy lately and I haven't had as much time/energy for writing as I once did, but I'm definitely not stopping.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed Cashmere.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @AdorkableAuthor for inviting me to participate in this year’s Veronica Mars Promptober challenge. My fanfic skills are a little rusty so it’s taking me a little longer to write and post. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Update: This will be where I keep all my drabbles from here on out


End file.
